


Jealousy, Thy Name is Oliver

by PhantomWriter



Series: It's a weird start (but we'll be fine) [14]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Glee, The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Oliver Queen, Sebastian Smythe is Barry Allen | The Flash, Sexually Frustrated Oliver, brotp Huntbastian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 18:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12348390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantomWriter/pseuds/PhantomWriter
Summary: Barry's best friend from high school is in town, garnering almost all of his attention from Oliver.But no matter what the others and the title say, Oliver is not jealous.a.k.a. Where everyone is aware of the mutual attraction except Oliver. Miscommunication ensued, and Oliver and Barry are hopeless.





	Jealousy, Thy Name is Oliver

**Author's Note:**

  * For [panofaar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/panofaar/gifts).



> dedicated to my amazing fellow Filipino, panofaar. You're the best. 
> 
> for the others, might not be your cup of tea. It's cool if it isn't. Glad that you're still bearing with me up to now.

It came to Oliver as an epiphany.

 

Initially, he thought he was merely reading too much on the current status of his relationship with Barry, of how they seemed to have grown closer since the invasion incident. It might have begun exactly during the time he asserted his unwavering belief to the speedster, not wanting to blame him for the alteration of the timeline that caused the extraterrestrial visit, despite the strong expression otherwise by the combined teams of Legends and Team Arrow and Team Flash.

 

But it was mainly because of the sudden fear when Barry planned on sacrificing himself. It wasn’t as different should any of his teammates were the one to offer, but Oliver felt the ugly twist in his chest aside from the panic in his gut. He was afraid. He was afraid of losing him, of losing the light that wasn’t even solely his.

 

He was afraid to lose Barry.

 

Though that was only the first telltale sign.

 

The second was when his mind would always drift back to Barry, how most things reminded him of the speedster these days. Oliver wasn’t one to daydream but it was becoming a common occurrence when he was looking forward to his night out with the younger man. There were different versions in his head on how the night would flow, all with him getting an armful of Barry and spending the whole evening with him in varying compromising positions, sometimes in the Foundry, S.T.A.R. Labs, his apartment, Barry’s apartment, inside a car, on his motorbike—anywhere he could think of, really.

 

And when he slept and would dream on his normally dreamless slumber, his what-ifs became more… _interactive_ , so to say. Come morning (no pun intended), he would be needing cold showers and replacement of bedsheets. He thought it was ridiculous, reacting that way like a teenager over his friend he was lusting after. He had never been that way before, never been sexually frustrated; except it was more than that, more than just wanting to have sex and the feeling of satisfaction. He was looking forward to the morning afters, of waking up next to Barry and snuggling with him on the couch on lazy afternoons as they watch corny TV shows, of his head on his lap when Barry was watching National Geographic or Animal Planet with his fingers carding through Oliver’s short hair absently and his rapt attention at the screen, which in turn would have Oliver studying him from his position. Oliver would like, too, the feel of the smaller hand on his, of long fingers entwining with his calloused ones when they stroll outdoors.

 

It was mostly the simple things that Oliver would like to have.

 

He took it back—it wasn’t an epiphany at all.

 

Because it was akin to a slap in the face during this one time they were on their usual bar, exchanging some stories about their respective teammates' quirks when Barry laughed, the sound a pleasant chime to Oliver’s ears, and that it has been a while since (with the Savitar matter and all that) and he very much wanted to hear it often. Observing the way Barry’s cheekbones stretched upwards and the twinkling of his eyes in amusement, Oliver knew then that he was pining all this time and _I’m in-love with this person._

He’s in-love with Barry Allen and instead of his knee jerk reaction of keeping the person he holds dear at a distance, Oliver lets his heart pull him to the direction where it wanted to be.

 

Although he was yet to follow its whim when it comes to admitting his feelings. There was still a part of him that was holding back, particularly that voice that was saying he didn’t deserve Barry. It was the winning side of him, and, well, Oliver couldn’t deny its argument.

 

But tonight, maybe he could fight it back, take a risk and lay out his feelings at once. He could care less about rejection, and he trusts Barry enough to not let it affect their professional partnership. Oliver knew he would manage.

 

It was like being young again, except that Oliver skipped this certain phase of feeling silly over somebody. _Because this is real_. Real than any of his past involvements.

 

Barry looked more radiant that evening, in skinny jeans and maroon three fourths, hair slightly coiffed that gave him a carefree air. Oliver wouldn’t call it going all the way but there was an improvement from sweatshirts and occasional sweatpants. It might be because they were in club instead of their usual bar at Central. But then again, Oliver never cared what Barry would wear—he still looks attractive to him either which.

 

Oliver watched as Barry approached, the latter’s smile getting wider each steps closer. Oliver was never one for poetic words but fuck if the movements around Oliver didn’t go into slow motion, his whole focus on Barry alone. Thank God for being an expert in schooling expressions or else he would probably look like a lovesick fool.

 

“Hey,” Barry said once he slid at the empty stool beside Oliver. He turned to the older man fully, brows meeting in confusion. “I hope that grimace is not for me.”

 

“I’m not—No.” Oliver called for the bartender instead of explaining himself. He started with gin and tonic. Barry ordered rum. Sometimes Oliver wondered what was the difference to Barry drinking these alcohols that couldn’t affect him.

 

“Could have fooled me,” Barry muttered in continuation once it was just the two of them. “I look terrible, don’t I?” There was a hint of glum in his voice. “Iris practically put this on me even when I told her this is not my color.”

 

It wasn’t how Oliver intended to react (so much for being an expert in schooling expressions) nor did he meant for Barry to take it negatively. “You look…” _Amazing_. “Alright. You look alright.”

 

Despite the vague assurance, Barry didn’t appear to be put off and was grinning, taking the statement as a compliment since he thought it was the best he could fish out of Oliver. “I’ll tell Iris you said so.” Barry leaned closer to the other’s personal space, clinking their glasses together.

 

Barry smelled faintly of aftershave, the scent of ozone, and something sweet like chocolates. Oliver tried very hard not to think of melting chocolate rolling off Barry’s skin on the last one as the scent filled his nose, making him a bit light-headed. If he didn’t know any better, he would say Barry groomed himself that way on purpose and knew the effect he has on Oliver.

 

Oliver knew better.

 

He wasn’t sure whether that was disappointing or not.

 

Time wore on with Oliver finishing a bottle of vodka (bless him for high tolerance) as his foothold for his so-called confession, hoping the alcohol would help him open up honestly. Downing another shot while listening to Barry talking about the latest metahuman in town, Oliver decided he was set. The place wasn’t one for laying out your feelings for your friend but he would loss the nerve should he even stand up from the seat.

 

He placed down the shot glass with more force than necessary, making Barry pause mid-sentence, glancing at him with worry. “Ollie? Are you okay?”

 

“I’m fine.” _Not really._

 

“If you say so,” Barry said finally after carefully regarding him. “You seem out of it. It’s alright if you want to call it night and want to rest.”

 

Actually, that was the best idea, but Oliver shook his head, slightly wetting his lower lip and staring at Barry straight in the eye. “I want to tell you something.”

 

“Yes?”

 

Oliver tried to relax, reminiscing since he didn’t prepare a speech for this. Though this one would be coming from his heart unpracticed. He already forgot the last time he was as honest as this. “You’ve been a good friend and a valuable ally to me and the vigilante. Albeit I get annoyed at times with your cockiness.” Barry laughed at the last one, unrepentant. It eased some of Oliver’s tension. “But you’re one of the very few honorable men I know with a gentle heart. Now I understand the pull you have over many since I’m not immune to it either.” There was a baited breath at the pause. “Barry Allen, I think I lo—”

 

“Excuse me, sirs,” the female bartender interrupted, turning her focus to Barry and pushed a cocktail to his way.

 

“Um, thanks?” Barry stared at her dumbly.

 

“Compliments of that guy over there,” she said with a grin, thumb jerking to the direction she pointed. Her glance flitted to Oliver, making her grin wider and more conspiratorial. “Hunk magnet, huh?” was her final remark before getting the order of another customer.

 

Oliver followed Barry’s eyes when they went in search at the other side of the bar, only to find nobody there.

 

Barry stared at the glass of drink given to him, shrugging and didn’t touch it. He focused back to Oliver, blinking as he tried with determination to remember where they left of. “You were saying?”

 

Consequently, Oliver also found his nerve has disappeared, the moment already escaped him... them. Fuck.

 

“I knew I’d recognize that skinny ass anywhere.”

 

Fortunately, Oliver was saved from embarrassment of sitting there speechless when an unfamiliar voice came from behind Barry that sounded both smug and amused.

 

Barry swirled from the stool with shocked wide eyes in recognition, letting out a small gasp of disbelief when he saw who it was. “Claring—Hunter?”

 

Oliver looked at the newcomer who resembled Brother Eye alarmingly so that he was close to getting his bow and arrows, except that there was no warning bells ringing, Barry appeared to know this person, and this one appeared younger by few years (Barry’s age if his estimation was correct). The similarity in looks was yet to be distressed about though he would still check later.

 

He observed this Hunter, watched as his smirk widened but turned fond when he heard his own name from Barry. And then morphing into a smile when in return he said, “Seb.”

 

Who the hell is ‘Seb’? _Is it short for Sebastian?_ _Why_ _did he call Barry Sebastian?_

Why didn’t Oliver have a good feeling about this?

 

A laugh escaped the speedster. “It’s Barry now,” he corrected. “Well, always have been,” he murmured.

 

Hunter seemed impressed. “Came into terms with it.” He gestured at the glass of drink at the bar top. “I hope I got your favorite order right. Wasn’t sure if stirred or shaken though.”

 

 _That was from him?_ Oliver thought with reproach, brows frowning a bit.

 

“That was from you?” was Barry’s same line of thought. “Uh, yeah. It’s still the same.” He chuckled weakly as if in regret. “Just can’t appreciate anything with alcohol now.” He received an eyebrow raised. “I’ll tell you about it.” Oliver hoped Barry wouldn’t since it meant revealing his fast metabolism, and then he would have to elaborate it further, and as far as Oliver knew, he was an ungraceful liar so... “Thanks for this?”

 

“No problem.” Blue eyes of lighter shade went past Barry and landing to Oliver who was behind the latter. “You have a companion.”

 

 _Damn right he has_ , was what Oliver was close to saying.

 

Barry perked up. “Right. Where are my manners? Hunter, this is Oliver,” he said firstly, trailing off with a minor struggle that went unnoticed, but not to Oliver. “A close friend of mine.” Turning to Oliver, he said, “Oliver, this is Hunter, a high school… best friend?”

 

“You’re not sure? I must feel offended,” Hunter said. He and Barry shared a cryptic private smile.

 

Oliver didn’t like it one bit.

 

“Hunter Clarington,” Hunter said as he went closer, offering a hand. “Mr. Queen.”

 

He gave a strong handshake that Oliver couldn’t help but mimic, almost gripping than shaking. “Oliver Queen,” he introduced back, breaking the handshake first. _Clarington_. Somehow, the family name was familiar.

 

Hunter seemed to have read his thought. “You might have known my father. Alexander Clarington. I heard of your father, Mr. Robert Queen through him.” With sincere solemnity, he added, “Condolences.”

 

Oliver took the sentiment appreciatively. “It has been long.”

“You two know each other?” Barry interjected, Oliver guessed to change the subject.

 

“Not directly, no,” Oliver told him. “Like him, it’s his father that I’m familiar with.” His mind went back to the list his late father handed him. Thankfully, he didn’t recall having a Clarington listed. Must be one of his father’s ever rare colleagues with a clean record. “Typical association through fathers.”

 

“True,” Hunter agreed with a nod. “Have to participate in every event your dad is in for the others to recognize you individually,” he explained to Barry more. “Which I’m sure Mr. Queen here didn’t have a problem making himself known, with his escapades and all.”

 

Oliver was past taking that as an insult but it was a mild jibe nonetheless.

 

“Makes me wonder how the two of you became _close friends_ ,” Hunter muttered under his breath, almost inaudible with the noise of the club if not for the proximity of them three.

 

_Little shi—_

“Does that mean only rich kids gets to befriend each other?” Barry puffed a breath, lip jutting when he crossed his arms in mock offense. He didn’t even realize he interrupted the thickening tension.

 

“Mr. Clarington here seems to be implying so,” Oliver shot back mildly with a faux smile.

 

“If I do mean it that way—which I don’t—I’m just kidding,” Hunter said, recovering easily. He gave Barry a weak playful punch on the shoulder.

 

Oliver’s fake smile stretched an inch (translation from those who know him, he was internally scowling now) at the brief contact that lingered when Hunter, _the sneaky bastard_ , placed his palm on Barry’s shoulder in a seemingly beyond friendly gesture (as what Oliver perceived).

 

“As much as I hate to break our mini-reunion, I’ll have to dump my stuff at the hotel. Just went here for a night cap and well,” Hunter said, eyes traveling on all of Barry’s lean glory that went unnoticed by Barry himself. “Didn’t really expect to see you here in Central City, of all people.” He patted Barry on the back. “Such a small world.”

 

Barry snorted. “I did tell you before I'm hailed from Central.”

 

“Right. My bad, the French accent back then distracted me,” Hunter said with a drip of sarcasm as he fished his phone from his pocket and handing it to Barry. “Number? You can get mine as well.”

 

Oliver’s brows twitched at how smooth that was. As if he didn’t do the same technique to a number of people long ago.

 

“How long will you be in Central?” the speedster asked as he typed.

 

“Not sure. I’m thinking two weeks at most; signing some papers, get permits, and the day after Dalton’s official opening, I'll be returning to Ohio.”

 

“Wait. Dalton?”

 

Hunter gave Barry’s phone back and then pocketing his with a chuckle. “Dalton Academy Central City branch, how’s that?”

 

“For real?” Barry asked in awe. “That’s amazing.”

 

“You mean ironic that a student they once kicked out is now handling its internal affairs?” Hunter merely shrugged. “Our family has been their benefactor since the rebuilding of Dalton after the fire. I suppose they let bygones be bygones.”

 

Barry’s mind drifted away back to the past. “How are you then?” he asked gently. “I mean your issue, if you don’t mind me asking.”

 

“I don’t,” he assured Barry. Hunter smiled wanly. “Went to rehab for almost a year after I got kicked out, and been clean since then. It helped that my family was supportive no matter what,” he paused, eyes refusing to meet green ones shyly when Barry looked at him proudly. “I suppose I just never forgot what you told me years ago.” His focus zeroed on Barry alone, as if memorizing him without qualms about Oliver’s obvious frown now (Oliver speak for mentally seething). “Good night, Smythe.”

 

“Oh, right. Good night,” Barry replied a little quickly, like he was broken from some spell. “I’ll see you around?”

 

“For sure.” Hunter nodded to Oliver’s way. “Mr. Queen.” A hint of another smirk was dancing on his mouth while Oliver composed himself instantly and nodded in return as courtesy.

 

And as much as Oliver wanted it to be Hunter’s last word for the night, it wasn’t when the latter turned back with that cocky smirk of his (that Oliver wanted to wipe off) and told Barry, “Maroon suits you, Seb.”

 

When Barry broke into a smile and a blush that was visible under the lighting of the place from a compliment that should have come first from Oliver himself, he decided that Hunter Clarington was his least favorite person now.

 

This wouldn’t be their last meeting.

* * *

“He called you by a different name,” was Oliver’s casual opening statement while walking on their way to Barry’s apartment (where Oliver’s motorcycle was parked). “’Seb’, was it?”

 

“It’s short for Sebastian. It’s my second name. Fully, it’s Bartholomew Sebastian Smythe Allen,” Barry informed him.

 

“That’s a mouthful,” Oliver commented, earning him a grin.

 

“It is. That’s why I only use Sebastian Smythe when I was in high school since, you know, Allen kind of called attention.” He placed a hand on his neck. “But that was only in high school. I introduced myself back as Barry Allen starting college.”

 

Oliver was quiet for some time, listening to their footsteps on the pavement of the sidewalk. “You never told about your high school.”

 

“I try not to because it’s not my best phase in life. I was a bully back then, would you believe it?” the speedster admitted truthfully. It didn’t make Oliver look at him any differently. They’ve all had their worst moments. “The only good thing there was The Warblers.” He looked away sheepishly. “It’s the name of our show choir group in Dalton. And show choirs are a big deal in Ohio.”

 

Oliver blinked. “I didn’t know you sing, or dance.”

 

“You’re the first one I told about. Please don’t tell my team. Especially Cisco. God, never Cisco.”

 

“I won’t,” the older man assured him with an expression something akin to humor. “Promise.”

 

“Anyway, that’s also how I met Hunter back then. He’s the one who replaced me as the captain the group.”

 

Oliver’s face morphed to seriousness at the mention of the name. “Were you two close?” They obviously were if the man got to be dubbed as a high school best friend; there was actually another person labeled as such that wasn’t Iris.

 

Barry seemed oblivious at Oliver’s inner distaste for Hunter. “At first? No. He doesn’t really give the best of first impressions, as you have seen.” Barry’s tone went softer at the trip to memory lane. “He’s a perfectionist, which was why we didn’t like him at the beginning. But his dedication to us was admirable, how he lead us with discipline and motivated us to win. He’s a fixer, you know? Taking matters to his own hands and patching problems that weren’t even his. That’s just how he is.” Barry laughed suddenly in realization. “You’re two are pretty similar in the strictness department.”   

 

It was amazing that Barry could find common ground for Oliver and Hunter.

 

“I thought Iris is your best friend,” Oliver pointed out, and if Barry noticed something on his tone, he didn’t comment.

 

“Of course she is. So is Hunter, but as I said, high school best friend.”

 

“Which means?”

 

“We kind of fell out since we don’t have continuous communication. The type of I’m-not-sure-what-category-we-fall-on kind.” It actually made sense to Oliver. It was a few minutes closer to their destination before Barry continued, “To be perfectly honest, I’m not really sure what we are, or were. All I know is that we were… almost something,” he said wistfully. 

 

“Almost something,” Oliver repeated, the words leaving a sour taste on his tongue despite not having a clue on what Barry meant.

 

“Almost something,” Barry mumbled with a nod. “Somebody a little bit more than a friend. Somebody you could have potential with for more. Somebody who could have been, um, you know.”

 

“A lover,” Oliver finished for him quietly.

 

“That sounds Shakespearean but, yeah. He would have been if he wasn’t kicked out. Probably. Even if he insisted he was 'not remotely bi-curious' since day one.” Barry snorted.

 

That _probably_ wasn’t reassuring Oliver of anything. In fact, Barry’s admission made him sorry for himself. It didn’t even matter anymore if Hunter was somebody from Barry’s past. The fact that he was currently at the present and could start all over again with Barry meant possible opportunities to continuing where they left off, and where would Oliver exactly fit in that?

 

_Nowhere._

 

It made sense now that he thought about it. Him getting interrupted earlier, Hunter cutting in with the right timing, earning Barry’s attention with his appreciative one-liners—it was like the universe was telling Oliver that he and Barry would never happen. More like rubbing in his face that not in a million years.

 

It was funny because it wasn’t even an hour of interaction and Oliver appeared to be already defeated.

 

He didn’t utter any word until they reached Barry’s apartment. He bid him a clipped good night and was starting the motorcycle when Barry approached closer.

 

“Before I forgot, you were telling me something. Before Hunter arrived?” the younger man helped jog his memory (which was unessential).

 

“It’s nothing,” Oliver told him with every ounce of conviction.

 

Barry’s face fell for a split second and then smiled a tad bit brightly. “I see.”

 

“Whatever it was, it was probably not important,” the older man lied. Heck, it was far from nothing to Oliver. “Good night, Barry. Until next time.”

 

As Oliver sped away, Barry gave a wave and a silent _good night_ back.

 

And for the whole five minutes, he was standing at the same spot in disappointment.

* * *

“Will somebody turn the music off?” Oliver snapped at the person in the Foundry who was playing _Whistle_ on loop since he asked Felicity to look up on Hunter Clarington. It resulted with her babbling multiple _ohmygod_ at first and then quieting down with a: _this guy could sing, Cooper couldn’t for the life of him_ (a really bad accidental pun given the guy was no longer with the living). Digging show choir performances on YouTube, she also found Barry’s performances with his show choir group, and while Oliver secretly enjoyed them, this particular song about fellatio, he didn’t.

 

Felicity and Curtis hastily turned off the speakers. Diggle watched as Oliver caught Rene whistling to the tune who promptly stopped at the hard stare he received from the Green Arrow.

 

“Woke up at the wrong side of the bed?” came Thea’s nonchalant inquiry, not taking crap from his brother’s scowling ever since the early morning. She knew Oliver wasn’t really full of sunshine but his goddammed mood was worse that day. “Or better yet, what crawled up your ass and died?”

 

“Nothing. Because you should be training or at least monitor the city but instead you’re all lounging around and listening to some crass music,” Oliver informed them tersely.

 

“Barry’s voice does blend well with Hunter's,” Felicity muttered under her breath. “Especially in their version of _Live While We’re Young_ —okay I'll shut up now.”

 

Before Oliver could direct at her his trademark Green Arrow glare, Diggle cleared his throat, asking him for a minute to talk.

 

“Alright, I'll use your sister’s words.” Oliver fixed him another of that intimidating gaze of his which only bounced off of Diggle. “Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed? What is this about? You’ve been reprimanding the team for the smallest of reasons.”

 

Oliver’s jaw tightened. Gritting out, “I’m just disciplining them. They’re slacking.”

 

Diggle appeared unconvinced. “You know they’re taking a one hour of break as of now. You were there when they worked themselves the whole morning to afternoon. And Felicity and Curtis take turns in monitoring the CCTVs we placed on every street, and listening to ongoing and outgoing calls at SCPD. And who’s this person you’re planning to investigate? And before you say none of our business, I beg to differ.” His expression went serious. “Is he a new player in town?”

 

Hunter _does_ look like a player but on an entirely different context. “He’s Barry’s friend,” Oliver explained, as if that would answer Diggle’s questions.

 

“And Barry is asking you to investigate him?”

 

“No. It’s—I don’t trust him. You saw who he looks like.”

 

“But they’re not related either. Maybe they simply resemble each other strongly. There are rare cases like that.” The taller man crossed his arms, eyes narrowing to Oliver like a parent urging the truth out of his stubborn kid. “What’s the real deal with him, Oliver?” Diggle seemed to have attributed Oliver’s sour mood to that person.

 

Oliver sighed exasperatedly. “Can’t you just leave it?”

 

“I can’t because there has to be a logical reason why you’re acting childishly,” Diggle bluntly said, knowing he wouldn’t get far dillydallying. “Let me guess, Barry is a factor in this too. You mentioned this friend of his appearing last night and interrupted you two in the middle of a conversation and—oh, dear. I almost forgot.” While realization dawned on his face, Oliver was left clueless at the implication.

 

“Forgot what?”

 

“How unbelievably dense you could be.” It was Diggle’s turn to sigh in exasperation. “I understand, but you really have to do something about yourself, Oliver. It’s not healthy.”

 

“I don’t follow,” Oliver deadpanned.

 

“I mean, do something rather than be busy being a jilted ex,” the other man said dryly.

 

“I am not being a jilted ex,” Oliver clarified indignantly. “I haven’t even been with Barry.”

 

“Which makes it more depressing.” He clammed at that, receiving a sympathetic look and a complimentary pat on the back from Diggle. “You’ll manage. You braved a lot of more difficult things. I know you can do it. Just be honest. Barry would prefer that.”

 

Oliver digested the piece of advice even as Diggle had already left him to his own devices.

 

He only realized then that he wasn’t subtle as he thought he was.

* * *

By odd machinations of fate (and a lot of mulling over what Diggle said on Oliver’s part) he found himself in a Friday evening on a table with Barry, Iris, Felicity, Cisco, Caitlin, and of course, the man of the week, Hunter. They were on a karaoke bar where Oliver was somehow roped into going.

 

Oliver felt left out at the rather rowdy talkative bunch, if not for Iris or Felicity or Barry occasionally bringing him in the conversation. But he wasn’t mingling with them for no reason.

 

He observed Barry and Hunter, how apparently they seemed closer in a span of few days, or they might be this close years back. Oliver wanted to click his tongue, and would think back on his inner argument why being here was a good idea. _Recon, you’re doing recon._ Though his so-called tactical awareness was yet to be applied.

 

His target was a textbook case—impressing the friends of his _person of interest_ with his singing voice that made even Cisco sigh at his one-man variation of _Blurred Lines_ (in Oliver’s opinion the lyrics with a heavy, underlying dubious suggestions); listening to every embarrassing stories of Barry shared by Iris; in turn sharing some of _Sebastian’s shenanigans_ on their high school days, which would made Barry incredulous that Hunter was paying attention then.

 

“I took them as you trying to get my attention,” Hunter quipped.

 

Barry went conscious at that, scoffing a little. “Fine, partially. Well, some—most. All of the time?”

 

Hunter laughed. “I’ll have to get used to you getting flustered. Is he normally like this?”

 

“Oh, man, you have no idea,” Cisco butted on he sidelines.

 

“That’s Barr's second nature,” Iris supplied.

 

“Is Sebastian like an alter ego of yours?” Hunter asked Barry curiously, making the interest of the people at the table piqued at the Barry/Sebastian subject. “Sebastian is like the most snarky person, hands down, that I ever met. My first impression was that he was an overconfident bastard with smartass mouth.”

 

Cisco and Felicity made impressed noises and _oooh_ s. Iris and Caitlin looked as if they were seeing Barry in a new light.

 

The speedster ducked his head sheepishly.

 

“But I was wrong,” Hunter continued. “Apparently, he also sings very well and can hold himself in dancing.”

 

“Wow. And I thought you said you have two left feet.” Oliver was sure Felicity would smack Barry on the shoulder if he was beside her.

 

“Dude, not cool you’re hiding your talent from us.” Iris shrugged that she had no idea either when Cisco accused her of being accessory to keeping the information. “Whatever. This calls for some YT throwbacks,” he said, cracking his knuckles.

 

Barry groaned.

 

“Can you two do duet?”

 

Whoever asked that earned a spot on Oliver’s list. He was guessing it was Cisco. Wasn’t surprising.

 

“We didn’t do duet, but I figured we would blend well together.” Hunter took it as a suggestion, nudging Barry and gesturing to the stage. “You on?” he challenged.

 

The speedster sighed in defeat at the expectant looks from his friends and the unsupportive blank stare from Oliver.

 

Although he was practically dragging his feet to the stage, it wasn’t long for Barry to get into the beat of the song—and who knew he sounded a lot better singing live? Oliver’s lips formed a small fond smile, liking how the notes tugged in his chest as if plucking his heartstrings and _I’m starting to sound like a sap_ (but for Barry only; though really, he should work on his pent up feelings).

 

Now, if only the view wasn’t ruined by Hunter’s hand subtly finding its way on Barry’s, thumb caressing the latter’s knuckles that the contact seemed normal to Barry that he didn’t pull away. He didn’t return the gesture, nor did he decline it. Oliver wasn’t sure what to make of that; the huge gulp of drink he took became a large block in his throat in an instant.

 

It was ridiculous that he was still around and endured the rest of the night under the pretense that he was having fun when instead he was busy being miserable over somebody across him who obviously he could no longer have.

 

It wasn’t even a direct rejection but Oliver perfectly knew when he missed his chance.

* * *

Now that it was clear to him where he and Barry stood and that it wouldn’t go beyond the realms of camaraderie, Oliver settled for the silence of the sidelines, being there when the situation called for the Green Arrow, but not being a constant person in trivial matters. 

 

That included not returning phone calls from Barry if it would only entail an invitation to hang out. Besides, the speedster was occupied enough with Hunter who was over Central for a limited time. Might as well let Barry spend his quality time with the man.        

 

Diggle might call it sulking but Oliver called it ‘maintaining a professional slash friendly distance’.

 

“Alright, Ollie, what’s wrong?” Thea asked when she cornered him one day, propped against the doorframe and arms crossed. The posture alone was demanding him to spill. “Last time, you’re like on menopause. Recently, you’re like a kicked puppy.” In a much softer voice, she tried again, “Is there something you want to talk about?”

 

“There is,” Oliver admitted without hesitation. “But they’re not a big deal so we can put it aside and let it pass.”

 

“Try me.”

 

He considered lying, or lying by omission at least. Though he already hid enough from her to last him a lifetime, and this was his younger sister. “It’s Barry.”

 

“What about him?” She frowned, not expecting the answer.

 

“More like about us. Then again, there are no _us._ ” Oliver smiled wanly. “And never will be.”

 

Thea was taken aback at how uncharacteristically her brother behaved. “Were you rejected?” she treaded carefully. She was talking about her big brother here who was known emotionally constipated since becoming the vigilante, and before the island as somebody who took everything for granted and rather shallow.   

 

“No.”

 

“Okay. Were you told to wait off, that he’s not prepared to date you or enter in a relationship, something along the lines?” She was making vague signs with her hands. “Did he tell you that you two won’t manage it above being heroes and living 600 miles in between?”

 

Oliver shook his head.

 

“Then what did he say?”

 

“He didn’t have to,” his voice seemed hoarse even to his ears. “Maybe he prefers somebody he has long withstanding relationship with despite not seeing each other for years. Or somebody who has real talent for singing. Or possibly, who can sleep well at night. Or most likely, doesn’t have the emotional baggage and recurrent traumas.”

 

She blinked twice—thrice, gaping slightly. He didn’t even realize he raised his voice, and she definitely wasn’t ready for the outburst. “Oh, so, uh.” She had to wrap her mind around what he said. “Are you jealous?”

 

“Pardon?”

 

“Look, Ollie. It doesn’t sound like he gave you a definite ‘no’ and I’m sure he doesn’t even know you feel…” _The same way_ was what she was on the verge of saying. “… _that_ way. And, I don’t know, maybe make yourself more obvious like he is?”

 

Oliver was way past that option. “You think I don’t let my intentions known?”

 

Expect her brother to miss the hint.   

 

“Just be yourself?” Thea half-heartedly said, knowing that was the main reason there was no progress between the two ( _these idiots_ ). “Scratch that. Make yourself _feel._ It’s not illegal to be assuming, Ollie. We all do that.”

 

If there was an achievement Oliver got by speaking to Thea, it was an added confusion to the unsavory mixture of frustration and regrets.

* * *

Barry stopped his unreturned attempts at communication the following day. Which wasn’t surprising if Barry gave up on him.

 

And then there was a single text from an unknown number asking for him to meet at Jitters at the given time immediately for the next day.

 

Just his luck, it was none other than… drumroll, please.

 

Hunter _goddamnit_ Clarington.

 

Oliver considered going back to Star City when he noted that Barry wasn’t around and Iris was giving him the look of anticipation, pointing at the table where Hunter was at.

 

“Mr. Queen,” Hunter greeted him formally, his cocky look absent and appeared to be pondering about something. “Glad you can make it.”

 

“I’m curious.” Truthfully, he really was. “You said we need to talk.”

 

“And I’m sure you know who about.”

 

“What about Barry?” Oliver doubted he was asked to come all this way just to have Hunter rub on his face his current status with Barry.

 

“He won’t respond to anybody and is indisposed at the moment.” He tilted his head to Iris’ direction. “His foster sister said he isn’t responding to any of her texts either and hasn’t left his apartment.”

 

That wasn’t what Oliver expected.

 

Hunter sighed. “He’s sulking. He did it before in high school, when the person he thought he was making a progress with altogether stopped communicating with him.”

 

“And you called me here because?”

 

“It’s happening again and you’re that person now,” came the direct reply. “I’m sure if he heard you he’ll snap out of his recluse.” Hunter waved a hand dismissively. “I pieced it together that you’ll be the one who can. He’s been complaining nonstop on that you’re ignoring him. I mean, sure, that’s a breath of fresh air from _gushing_ about you, but I don’t like seeing him like that either.”

 

It was on rare occasions that you could render Oliver Queen speechless. This was one of those.

 

“Oh.”

 

Hunter regarded him, reading Oliver’s supposedly unreadable expression. “Please don’t tell me that you think we’re together.” With an accusing frown, he amended. “Great. You totally did.”

 

“You’re not helping either,” Oliver retorted, not wanting to be the bad guy.

 

“That was me _testing_ you.” The older man couldn’t, for the life of him, follow the line of logic. “Specifically, making you uncomfortable to push you to your edge so that you would feel threatened, thus making the move on Seb first because, let’s face it, he’s no longer how I knew him, oozing with confidence and just pursues what he wants. Now he’s subdued or something. Don’t get me wrong, I like him empathetic and good for him that he had his retribution arc. The downside is that he turned meek. Not weak, just… meek.” Hunter looked like he was close to pulling his hair. “And then, there was me making a bad investment to _you_ being the less dense among you two because you should have seen already how obviously smitten he is that at the mere mention of your name makes him float to whatever it was up there.”

 

It took Oliver a few beats, things making sense and clicking in his brain. “Barry likes me,” he murmured, testing the words on his tongue like foreign substance.

“I didn’t know.”

 

“Congratulations, Mr. Queen. Now, please go to him and when you’re done doing each other, bring him to me so I can kick his skinny ass.” Oliver wouldn’t have missed the relieved tone behind the sarcastic voice if not for him instantly standing up and dashing out of Jitters.

* * *

He didn’t bother to knock, aware that Barry would ignore him. In the broad daylight, there was Oliver picking the lock of Barry’s apartment door and he could care less if he got reported for breaking and entering.

 

He went straight to the bedroom and was met by the sight of Barry draped with a thick blanket and scooping large amounts of chocolate chip ice cream.

 

 _I thought only females do this?_   

 

“Barry.” Oliver cleared his throat, earning the attention of the other man. “Hey.”

 

“Oliver?”

 

He took it as an invitation to come closer, sitting at the free space beside the younger man. The apology left his lips first, deciding that directness was the best course of action.

 

“It’s fine. Though I still don’t know why you’re mad at me.” Barry practically stabbed his spoon on the frozen treat.

 

“It’s not you.” Oliver closed his eyes. “It’s… Thea is right. I was jealous.”

 

“Huh?” Barry adorably tilted his head in confusion.

 

“To your friend in town? To the friendly _touching_ you two like to make? How he seems to deserve you more than I do?”

 

“Wow.” Barry absently placed away the empty ice cream container. “I kind of figured that you’re somewhat dense when I’m the most obvious person in the world and you’re still oblivious to my feelings. I didn’t know it was that worse.”

 

Oliver chided him with a click of the tongue.

 

“And I thought I told you about my history with him?”

 

“That he’s your _almost something_? Sure.”

 

“Exactly. ‘Almost’ is the keyword there, Ollie. It’s a long time ago, the sparks already burned out and we’re happy for each other with who we are with now. Think of it as a pleasant break up, even if we didn’t became a thing. And we’re close friends, that’s all that matters.” Barry exhaled, inching closer to Oliver’s space.

 

“Maybe I thought I would also be that—your almost something.”

 

Barry smiled wistfully. “In case you need more assurance, I’d like nobody else but you to be with me here right now.” He reached out to poke Oliver at the spot between his eyes. “You jealous dork.” He pulled out his tongue. “But I love you anyway, so you’re my favorite dork.”

 

“Look who’s talking.” Oliver planted an arm beside Barry’s head, staring down at the green eyes looking up at him with mirth and adoration. “For the record, I love you too.”

 

 Barry snickered. “Wasn’t so hard to say, was it?”

 

“You’re right.” He placed a light kiss on Barry’s forehead. “Should have done it before.”               

 

The speedster hummed. “We should have.” He sat up, lips a breath apart with Oliver’s unmoving ones. “We missed a lot, Ollie. I don’t know about you, but I think this calls for making up.”

 

Oliver didn’t give in, remaining immobile at the same position. But damn if he didn’t want to devour Barry in a kiss right now. “What kind of make up?”

 

“Make up kisses, for example?” Barry suggested. Innocently, he added, “Make up sex?”

 

Oliver growled in possessiveness. “I’ll take those,” he muttered, pulling Barry in a heated kiss.

* * *

“You’re alive,” Hunter couldn’t help but remark once his call was picked up.

 

 _“Sucks for you, I’m not dead yet.”_ He could imagine the accompanying eye roll. Barry paused on the other line. _“Thank you, Hunt, by the way.”_

 

“What for?”

 

_“Intervention. Iris said she almost got suffocated at the alpha pheromones you both emitted.”_

He snorted. “You mean a wakeup call.” Barry chuckled. “You really deserve each other if you both needed one.”

 

_“Good thing you’re still the mother hen and looking after us.”_

“Geez. I should be done babysitting since Nick and Jeff.” Hunter groaned without heat. “You think maybe I should have given him _the talk_?”

_“Please. You can threaten him all you want but my man can beat you in a pulp.”_

“No wonder you’re the bottom.”

 

_“Hey!”_

Hunter yawned after having a good laugh. “Alright, that’s enough. I have to sleep. Early morning.”

 

_“Good night, Hunt.”_

“Good night, Seb.”

  
_“It’s Barry now,”_ came the gentle correction.

 

“My bad,” Hunter said sincerely. “Good night, Barry.”

* * *

**THE END**

**Author's Note:**

> Barry and Sebastian attitude mixing in the right way. Ollie will have a field day.


End file.
